Fresh Outta Fifteen
by TheWalkingDead69
Summary: Oneshot Daryl's POV of Beth Greene. Set Season 2. Inspired by a Dixon comment in 'Continuum'.


**Hello all. Firstly, this is more of an apology story and reviewer request rather than something you are after. When I was writing Continuum, I recieved an inbox from a dedicated reader and reviewer who commented that Daryl's remark about wanting Beth since she was 'fresh outta fifteen' would be worthwhile discussing in a one-shot of when Daryl was first living on the Greene farm.**

 **Honestly, I'm having a major writers block with Continuum at the moment about how to move on with the story without it sounding repetitive. If you haven't checked out my other stories, please give it a read and let me know what you think!**

 **Cheers and thanks for the support and love guys! As always, enjoy and please review :)**

 **Lara xoxo**

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For the first time since the whole damn world had gone to shit, Daryl was only just now becoming convinced that he was finally in hell. For all of the hardship, fighting, starving and killing that he'd been forced to do to survive for so long was nothing - absolutely nothing in comparison to the self-restraint that he required to get through each long and tiresome day on Hershel's farm.

Hell came in the form of a tiny little thing, barely out of her cheerleading skirt and pom poms.

Hmmm, cheerleading skirt.

The first time Daryl saw her was forever etched into his long-term memory, and often replayed through his mind each night before sleep.

He'd just come in from a hunt, a deer slung over one shoulder and his loaded crossbow heavy in his hand. He dumped his catch in the front yard, his eyes sweeping the yard to ensure he was alone before he shrugged off his bloodstained shirt and threw it to the floor. No amount of handwashing would get the dirt out of that shirt, and it's not like it was his only one anymore. He was alone, there was no one to see the scars on his back. No one to judge him.

He quickly pulled out his hunting knife and started to butcher the carcass carefully, enjoying the quiet melody of the birds and the scampering of the critters throughout the woods. He was completely lost in the rhythm of skinning the deer he didn't hear the soft footsteps that approached him from behind. It wasn't until he heard that little throat clear that he was even aware of her presence.

She was standing in the clearing behind him wearing her cowboy boots over the tightest pair of jeans that Daryl had ever laid eyes on. She was glaring at him, part shock part fear. They'd never spoken before, merely traded quick glances as they passed each other on the farm or within the house. He always tried to keep his distance from the others. Wasn't worth no time to get to know someone these days. More often than not, they ended up dead within the week.

"Can I help you?" he grunted out over his shoulder.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you," she replied softly, her voice the most feminine and delightful thing that had graced Daryl's ears over the past year or two.

"I ain't that easy to scare, girl," he shrugged off her apology, returning his attention to the butchered meat and wincing as he heard her short gasp as he turned his back to her.

"Oh, my. What happened to your back?" she gasped, her tiny hand reaching out as if to touch him. To caress him. He stood quickly - too quickly - causing her to take a fast step backwards as if she were afraid.

"Don't matter none," he growled, his eyes desperately seeking out his wifebeater. As much as he wanted to pretend that he didn't care, he truly didn't enjoy exposing his most vulnerable side to the girl before he really knew her.

"Why are you out here anyway? Ain't it dangerous?" he attempted to change the subject, hoping she wouldn't pick up on the sore topic.

"I'm not a child," she replied cooly, however her voice shook betraying her doubt.

"Daddy sent me out here to check on the horses. I wanted to ride, but Nelly's feeling spooked," she continued, her cowboy boot digging into the soil underfoot as she spoke.

"Bullshit you ain't a child. Can't be a damn day over seventeen," he grunted, cleaning his knife messily on the leg of his jeans before standing to face her.

"Ain't a day over sixteen, actually. Had my birthday last week. Or, at least, I think it was my birthday. They don't make calendars no more, so..." she trailed off, her cheeks blushing vividly now that she had his full attention. He didn't miss the way her eyes trailed over his arms, down the expanse of his chest to where the waistband of his jeans obstructed the hard planes of his stomach.

"Well... happy birthday," he said awkwardly, unable to look away now that she was completely within his line of sight. He felt like a goddamn idiot for not looking at her earlier. He'd been denying himself, that was for sure. How was it that he never noticed how long her legs looked in those torn jeans, like a baby giraffe. Or her breasts, which were small, yet looked like they'd fit perfectly into the palm of his hand if he dared to touch one. His head was suddenly filled with visions of her riding something other than that damn horse.

She smiled warmly at him now, her nerves settled.

"Thanks," her reply was almost a whisper as she toed the earth tentatively.

"Well, I'm going to head inside now. I'll, uh... see you around, Daryl," she turned to walk past him with a shy wave.

"See you... um, wait. I don't know your name?" Daryl called towards her back. She turned so quickly on the spot that he knew she'd been expecting the question.

"Beth. I'm Beth."

"See you around, Beth."

He bit down on his bottom lip viciously as he was forced to watch her perfectly rounded ass walking up towards the house, her hips swaying side to side with each step in a way that made his blood burn with the need to follow her, to throw her to the ground and bury himself inside of her tight little body. With a great deal of effort, he turned his attention back to the damn deer with a sigh. Every day was going to be a living hell.

He 'saw her around' soon enough. From the moment Daryl became aware that he was sharing his living quarters with this woman, she suddenly appeared in his life multiple times a day, often leaving his pants feeling uncomfortably tight and his pulse thrumming hard in his veins.

One night he sat by the fireplace mending the splits in his bolts while he waited for Rick to take over on watch when he heard her light footsteps coming down the stairs. He didn't need to turn to identify the intruder. Nobody moved as fluidly, as quietly, as she did.

"Hey," she greeted him before pulling herself onto the couch besides him. He kept his eyes fixated on the consistently licking flames, despite his peripheral vision getting a glimpse of the smooth skin of her upper thigh that peeked out from under her sleep shorts. Her skin was already flushed pink from the heat of the fire - and possibly from desire - and Daryl wanted to know if her flesh would be as warm and as soft under his calloused hands as he imagined it would be. If only he had the courage to actually feel it.

"Hey, yourself," he grunted in response. He didn't want this Beth girl to become too attached to him, didn't want her thinking they were bonding over bolts and firewood. He didn't need to give her any more reasons to keep tempting him like she was.

"What are you doing?" She was trying to facilitate some kind of nervous conversation between them, unsure of how to approach this man that constantly sulked and scowled his way around her house.

"Just taping up the splits before my bolts snap in half," he explained half-heartedly, hating that he couldn't just ignore her. He could smell what he could only assume was the scent of her shampoo. Strawberries and vanilla. So typical of a girl like Beth, yet somehow the most enticing thing he had smelt in over a year.

"Oh. Can I see?" her tiny and delicate hand was outstretched in front of him, and for a moment he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't know what she expected him to do with it. He shook his head to clear the thoughts from his mind as he handed her a bolt cautiously. He didn't do this. Didn't trust people he didn't know to touch his crossbow, or his bolts. Yet here he was, sliding the mended wood of the bolt against the skin of her palm like he was passing her the remote control.

He watched her appraise his handiwork, her eyes wide and glistening in the light from the fire.

"These look good. I wish I was good at mending things. I ain't so good with my hands," she smiled shyly as she handed the bolt back to him, her cheeks flushing pink.

Daryl bit his tongue to withhold the comment that threatened to spill from his lips, that would shock and horrify her until she retreated to her room and never spoke to him again. Because as he watched the bolt slide against her palms, he couldn't help but wonder what those hands would feel wrapped around something else. He'd bet everything he had left that she wouldn't disappoint.

"Sure you are. I've seen you in the kitchen. You can cook, that's something," he disagreed politely, his mind already whirring with images of her tiny hands stroking his length, eyes staring up at him, awaiting instruction and guidance.

"Women's work," Beth scoffed impatiently. "Ain't no place in this world for a soft woman," she added, raising her eyebrow in defiance.

Yes. Daryl did agree that she looked so fucking soft.

"Maybe being soft ain't such a bad thing, Greene," he replied. Yes, he liked calling her by her last name. It dehumanized her just a little. Made her sound like less of a female and more of a comrade. A teammate.

"You aren't," she murmured, her fingers twisting a nervous plait into her long golden hair.

Well, right now he fucking wasn't. In fact more often than not, her presence led to an uncomfortable tightening in the front of his jeans that had him picturing godawful scenarios to avoid certain embarrassment. And not necessarily his own.

As he observed her protective posture and flushed cheeks, he realized that she was intensely uncomfortable as she perched next to him. Her hands didn't know where to settle, her eyes darting back and forth from his gaze to her knees to her fidgeting fingers. This was unfamiliar territory for the girl.

Daryl could recall from his own lustrous experiences that only a certain type of girl was ever this unsure around a man. A girl that ain't never experienced the sudden and piercing transition into womanhood. A virgin.

Daryl gritted his teeth and felt his jeans grow tighter as the strap of her camisole fell from her left shoulder. All he could see was skin. Endless, unmarked, untouched, unblemished. He was aching to taste her. To cover her body with bite marks and kisses, until she arched up and writhed against him. Her thighs were there, exposed for his eyes to drink in. He wanted to feel them wrapped around his waist as he fucked her against the wall.

"Huh?" he interrupted her as he realized that she had been talking whilst he had been fantasizing about undressing her.

"Oh, um, I was just asking when you were thinking of doing another supply run. I was thinkin', maybe-"

"No chance, Greene. Think your Daddy would let you ride off on the back of a motorcycle with a guy like me?" he interjected, grateful for the distraction from his thoughts. His dangerous fucking thoughts.

"I've never asked," she reasoned, trying to break out her most heartfelt puppy dog eyes.

"Wouldn't bother. Your daddy don't hardly trust me to live under his roof, let alone to kidnap his youngest daughter. Damn well think I'm out there takin' advantage of you or somethin'" he continued, feeling the need to shoot this idea down before he found this girl straddling his bike and squeezing her legs around his torso for the long ride into town.

"Don't be stupid. He trusts you to take care of me," she adjusted the fallen strap, providing just enough coverage of her shoulders to clear some of the fog that settled in Daryl's mind.

He grunted noncommittally in response. To be honest, Daryl could think of no worse torture than having to endure Beth's silky voice and soft figure on a run. Together, just the two of them, nobody threatening to bust in and discover them. Given that chance, he could show her a thing or two about being taken care of.

"I'm going to bed," Daryl suddenly spoke up, needing to find an out from this situation he had backed himself into. His jeans were uncomfortably tight, his erection straining against the denim and threatening to reveal itself to the doe-eyed teen besides him.

"Oh, okay. Goodnight, Daryl," she looked somewhat disappointed at his sudden escape strategy, watching in awe as he hurriedly gathered the bows he had already mended before heading for the staircase to the small single bedroom he had called his own.

He threw his bolts carelessly to the floor and collapsed on top of the perfectly made bed. Hmm, Beth must have snuck into his room earlier and changed the sheets, fluffed up the pillows, smoothed out the duvet. The thought of her running her hands over the soft cotton of his sheets sent an almost violent shiver through his body. His hard on persisted, despite all attempts to ignore it.

It was only so difficult because of her status. She was untouchable. Firmly tucked away into the 'little girl' category, one which Daryl was forbidden from even considering despite how the curve of her backside and the flare of her hips signified her transition into adulthood.

But even so. Sixteen years young. Daryl was unsure whether he ought to be disgusted in himself for wanting a girl so young. It hadn't always been this way. Before the dead started walking, his sexual encounters had all occurred with perfectly adult and perfectly legal women. He'd never looked at a girl so young and had impure thoughts. He was a decent guy, he liked to think. Maybe he had a less-than-honorable criminal record when it came to drugs and DUI's - but he sure as hell wasn't a pervert.

But Beth sure as hell didn't seem like a girl. Wise beyond her years. Maybe she had always been that way, or maybe she had simply been forced to mature since the world started to fall apart. Either way, Daryl always saw a glimpse of determination in her eyes. A spark of light that was equal parts enticing and seductive. The kind of strength that didn't develop until you were grown. And Beth was most certainly grown.

He squeezed his arousal impatiently, attempting to relieve some of the pressure that was causing his discomfort. He heard Beth's soft footsteps as she swept past his bedroom door on her way to her own room. His muscles tensed with intentions of standing up, throwing open that door and pulling her in here with him. How would she react to find him this way? To be thrown amongst the sheets, stripped naked, his mouth covering every inch of her skin as she squirmed beneath him, fingers clawing at his shoulders. Would she be a screamer? Would he need to quieten her moans with the palm of his hand as he pushed her over the edge?

His dick twitched at the mental image of her strewn across the sheets with her blonde hair splayed messily over the pillows. He wondered how silky her hair would feel if he ran his fingers through it, or clenched a handful in his fist to pull her against him. He couldn't put into words how he longed to taste her, to listen to her crying out his name with her fingers pulling at his hair and her back arching uncontrollably as he drank her in. Or to feel the resistance as he sank into her, those sugar walls constricting around his cock as her virginal body adjusted to the intrusion.

So many things he ached to do to her, for her.

His blood was burning through his veins as he lay awake and uncomfortably stiff. Fuck, it had been too long since he'd had any kind of relief.

Even jerking off was getting harder and harder to do now that they were living in such close quarters with one another. The walls were paper thin, there were no secrets between these rooms.

Maybe all he needed was a distraction. Someone willing to take the pounding he was unable to give to Beth. Someone like Andrea. Sure, she was attractive, physically fit. A feisty bitch, but nothing Daryl hadn't encountered before. She had a smart mouth on her, but he could brainstorm a few solutions for shutting her up.

He grimaced as he considered sleeping with Andrea. She wouldn't say no. She would probably like it. Casual sex. Friends with benefits. Yet despite the obvious pro's to the situation, Daryl couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't what he wanted. Andrea would only be a bandaid over the gnawing scab of his fucking desire for the teenage girl down the hall. A means to an end. A compensatory strategy. And he knew that regardless of who he wound up in bed with, he wouldn't be satisfied until it was Beth

Suddenly, there was a short and sharp knock on his bedroom door. He was frozen in fear, unsure of who would be disturbing him at this ungodly hour.

"Yeah?" he growled. The door creaked open, and all he could see was an endless curtain of blonde. Fuck. Beth. Fuck Beth.

"Um, sorry if I woke you..." she whispered as she peered nervously into his room.

"Whats' a matter?" he grumbled, his tone noticeably softer once he realized who it was.

"Oh, nothing. Well, I mean... you dropped this in the living room when you left before. Thought I'd return it, that's all," she produced one of his bolts in her hand. It had obviously been left behind as he had dramatically gathered his things and ran from her earlier that evening.

"Oh. Thanks. Just leave it on the chair," he gestured towards the chair that was piled high with his clothes. She slid the bow gently between the pile of clothing and the wooden chair back, to protect it from tumbling to the ground.

"Right. Well, goodnight," her voice quivered. She backed out of his room before he had the chance to respond.

He threw his head back onto his pillow in distress. This was fucking torture. Did that girl have the slightest idea about the sick fantasies that played out in his mind each time he glimpsed her bare skin, the freckles on her nose, the dimples in her cheeks when she smiled?

She had no idea, and it was probably better that way.

Because a girl like Beth Greene didn't end up in bed with a man like Daryl Dixon. Not voluntarily, at least. And until the day arrived that their group parted from each other, Daryl clenched his jaw and accepted that he could not - would not encourage the feelings that she aroused in him.

Not if he wanted to escape this farm in one piece.

It was going to be a long apocalypse.

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 **Please review, I appreciate every one.**


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